Bosom Buddies
by Diclonius' Lilium
Summary: Iran wants to make an entrance and Mexico is the only person she knows who can aid her in this endeavor. However, Mexico wants something in return for risking World War Three. platonic!Mexico/Iran
1. Bosom Buddies

**Bosom Buddies**

**Warning:** Sexual innuendos, situations, and crack. Also, OCs.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia, but I do own my personification and perception of Iran (Mexico, however, belongs to a friend). Also, I don't agree with some of the sentiments expressed in the text.

* * *

When Mexico had woken up that morning, he hadn't expected Iran would leave her hotel, track down his house, and otherwise show up. Yet she did and smiled brightly as he stumbled to his door and let her in.

"O Maria, Maria… What are you doing here, Iran? Aren't you supposed to be in your… mosque?" Mexico growled. He wasn't a morning person, almost completely in love with his mattress over anything – or one – else.

The Persian smiled like a razor. "Well, I wanted to ask a favor of you, Mexico. Please, may I come in?"

He huffed. "Nah, let's sit out. If that's alright, _señora_." He muttered, gesturing at the large porch swing. She nodded, her head scarf falling over her bangs. She readjusted it as they sat on the swing.

It was a good few minutes of staring out into the parched horizon before Mexico chose to break the silence. "So what brings you to the continent? Did you and _Estado Unidos_ make up…?" He saw the glare and was secretly pleased. The Persian woman had been, to be entirely blunt, America's guard dog when they dated. She was very protective and Mexico would have been lying if her glare alone couldn't make any man's testicles take refuge in his ribs. "…I guess not?"

"No, the bastard hasn't managed to apologize," she snapped coldly. "But I do need your help with him."

"My help?"

"You can get me into his house, can't you?" she asked simply. "After all, I hear you've gotten in at least a hundred times, if not more."

Mexico was floored. He started to sputter "What? Are you crazy? O Dios, _¿Por qué has hecho esto?_" he sobbed. It was one thing for him to do it, but to break her in? That was World War Three waiting to happen!

Iran looked at him, resting against the cushions of the wicker porch swing comfortably. She let him carry on patiently before she spoke. "I'll pay you."

Mexico looked at her. Her audacity knew no bounds, did it? She could cause an international incident, at the least! And she wanted to pay him to do something so likely to backfire?

"How much?"

Well Judas _did_ sell out Jesus for thirty pieces of silver.

Iran smirked. "One hundred dollars is my lowest."

"A hundred, huh?" he frowned, thinking it over. Then he looked her over. "A hundred dollars and ten minutes with your _tetas_."

Iran furrowed her eyebrows. "My what?"

"Your knockers. Breasts, tits, the girls. Yanno, those." He pointed at her chest.

"W-What? What planet are you _on_?" she shrieked, crossing her arms over a bust line that would make Ukraine hyperventilate from the schadenfreude. A fetching blush spread across her cheeks. "Why would you ask for such a thing?"

Mexico scratched his cheek. "Well I kinda noticed a pattern… Every nation involved with those girls ended up pretty fucking powerful. I want to see if they'd work for me, you know?" he grinned sheepishly at her. "I ain't coming on to you, you know. My priest'll have an aneurysm if I did anything with a Muslim. Call me superstitious."

"And he wouldn't object... wouldn't object to this?" Iran sputtered, thinking it over. Despite many of the offers she had gotten, she hadn't had anyone intimately involved with her for thirty years. She was a very monogamous and picky woman. Her fellow nations were attractive enough, but the disparity between her and many of them financially was a major obstacle for her.

Mexico shrugged. "Those are my terms, _chica_. Take it or leave it."

Iran's mouth hurriedly tried to form words, her lips flapping like an air-drowned fish. However, in a treacherous and deprived corner of her mind, she had found his hypothesis rather interesting, if only for the sake of her ego. "…Fine," she sighed, her cheeks dusted with a more subdued blush, "But I don't want anyone to see us."

Mexico nodded, himself slightly blushing. "S-Sure."

* * *

The two had made themselves comfortable on his sofa, Iran conducting herself like a queen and Mexico fumbling nervously, glancing at her chest and then ripping his eyes away.

"So. How shall we do this?" Iran asked, glancing around his living room with distaste. Mexico hardly cleaned up after himself, so newspapers and magazines covered the floor along with feathers from the chickens. Conchita slept in her little bed in the corner.

Mexico looked at her. "Well… We should keep our clothes on. Holding off the wrath of God, you know."

"Very well then. Go ahead." She rested against the couch hesitantly. She was surprised to find it very comfortable, rather than icky and gross like old couches tended to be.

"O-Okay." Mexico gulped and slowly lowered himself against her chest.

He was happy to find that they were pleasantly soft, like pillows. He could smell jasmine and turmeric and fading sandalwood. Most of all, he could hear her heart beat, fluttering away like a little bird. Nations had different heart beats according to the number of people. America's was barely there, while Nicaragua's was closer to being human than anything else.

The time dragged on, his face against her breasts and Iran sitting woodenly under him. She seemed just as nervous as he did, despite his knowledge that she was far from being a "chaste little Muslim girl". She was a dangerous little thing, a powder keg ready to explode harder than the Balkans. No one, much less a woman, could have survived her lifetime without makes a few concessions on their sanity. He studied his history.

Iran's chest heaved as she sighed, looking over at the clock on Mexico's wall. "Feeling any stronger yet?"

Mexico shifted. "Not really. Why?"

"It's been five minutes."

"Oh."

* * *

"Alright, you're in." Mexico muttered, pushing America's backdoor open. It had taken a while, America had just gotten a new lock, but he managed to open it up with little perceivable struggle.

Iran pulled out a wad of tens from her purse and handed it to him with a grateful smile. "Thank you Mexico."

"So should I wait for you?" he asked hesitantly as he pocketed the wad.

"If that's what you want. Don't feel too obligated." She stated flippantly, stepping into the familiar kitchen.

Mexico nodded. "I won't."

He still waited for her.

* * *

**A/N:** This story has no real historical backing, but plenty of political backing and stereotype play. Mexico and Iran have a rather friendly relationship, politically. Iran is also helping Mexico to work on his energy efficiency.

Iran being linked to powerful nations is really more of a "Iran is strategic" thing than a "Iran's boobs are magical" thing.

Thanks for reading and remember to click the **Review This Chapter** link below!


	2. Her Entrance

**Condemnations**

**A/N: **Alright, an interesting story about this one. While it is the second posted, this was written _before_ "Bosom Buddies". Also, it was on my PC before the Wikileaks scandal and on deviantart for the longest time. Enjoy guys!

**Warning:** Dark. Nations doing illegal things.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. If I did, it would be darker, scarier, and more Middle East focused. I do own my perception of Iran.

* * *

"America, I need to speak with you."

America looked tiredly up from the pile of papers. So many things to sign, so little sleep, and even during those supposedly relaxing interludes, he had nightmares that sent him crying to his brother in Ottawa. He hated his job sometimes.

He let his eyes focus before he frowned. Iran was leaning against the door jamb, her face drawn and eyes seeming to scorn everything. "How the _hell_ did you get in?" he snarled.

"Mexico. He's very helpful for the right sum." Stated she, remaining cool despite the many laws and rules she was breaking by being here.

"So the great Iran is willing to lower herself to enter a country illegally to commit a felony? What will your bosses say?" He glowered at her over his glasses. Anger burbled in his stomach.

She smirked. "Exactly what the rest of the world said when you invaded Iraq. Thanks for that by the way," She strode through, up to his desk and sat herself on the edge. She swung her legs around and crossed them under the large, rather bulky dress. She was unafraid, acting like she owned the place. In a way, she had owned the place. She had helped him move in back when he first bought the place, after all. "But I did not come for your scorn, America. I came for your help."

America tore his wary eyes away from her legs. "My help? What do you mean?" She never asked for his help. She made it a point to refuse his help, even when lives were at stake. She was so stubborn at times.

"We are having problems, America; you _and_ I. There is no reason for your continual condemnations and I would like to know why you continue to push them."

America stared at her. "You are going against the international community's wishes and not living up to your responsibili-"

"The international community doesn't _care_ about my weaponless program. It's only you, Israel, and those imperialistic salamanders in Europe."

"And your neighbors!"

"Under pressure from you and the Zionist for sure."

America stood up, slamming his hands on his desk. "If you're just going to rehash your leader's sentiments, I'm going to… going to…" He was silenced with a gloved finger to his lips. Iran held his eye contact calmly, as though she was quieting down a small child.

"I'm not 'rehashing' anything, America. But I wanted to know the real reason behind this persecution,"

He yanked her hand from his lips, clutching it tightly. "It's not persecution! You are breaking your—"

"Is it because I left you?" She asked, her eyes widening a little at the sudden pressure on her hand. It was only slight, but he relished the surprise. The woman acted like she was omnipotent, unable to be surprised or scared.

America looked taken aback, his cheeks coloring in anger. "No! It has nothing to do with that!"

"Then why is it you have people stalking me? Why is it that you act as though I am a vile monster when you shake hands with _Saudi Arabia_?" Her eyes narrowed. The name was poison on her lips.

"Because you are a threat to my security and interests and other nations and fund terrorists! You give money to fucking al-Qaeda! If anything, it's you who's still butthurt over our break up!" He leaned in extremely close, glaring with barely restrained anger into her composed eyes.

"I do what I have to to survive. Israel is not the only non-Arab in the Middle East, you know. I may share the belief in Islam, but even I am not completely accepted," Her eyes narrowed, her voice cold and sharp. "Now may I please have my hand back? You are crushing it."

America let go and Iran laid her hand on her lap gingerly, eye contact never breaking.

There was a tense silence, both of them daring the other to speak. America broke eye contact first.

"No Iran. I am _completely_ over our break up. I'm over it. Completely over it." He mumbled, looking down at the desk top. He wanted to slump his shoulders, but he couldn't let Iran see him like that.

"If you are, then why do you keep repeating your leader's sentiments? I haven't invaded or attacked anyone in hundreds of years. We may have said things, but such things can be unreliable and interpreted-"

America gripped her arms as he slammed her back into the wall. Iran could tell there would be bruises along her back and arms later on. Her gaze was cold as he glared into her eyes. "Shut up. J-just Shut up. You might say you're harmless, but I know you _aren't_. You're responsible for the hostage crisis. You sell weaponry to radical Islamist groups. You don't listen to a word I say and call me the Great Satan! And for what reason?"

"You overthrew an elected official, America. You allowed **six hundred ****_thousand_** people to die because of your fears! Only a monster would do such a thing!"

America pulled her back and slammed her against the wall again, making her wince. "I was protecting you from the pinko commie who was taking over everyone! I couldn't lose you!" He blurted.

"And yet you did anyway. Except instead of to another man, you lost me to the harsh reality of your sins. Instead of learning from it, you turned to Israel for comfort. You attempted and still do attempt to wipe me off the face of the earth for hurting you, just like you attempted with the _Russki_."

"Shutupshutupshutup!" He muttered harshly into her ear, a mad mantra against the conviction of her tone.

Her leg shot out. His grip slackened and she shoved him away and onto the floor. For a nation whom hadn't been a superpower in centuries, she really packed a punch.

"But you cannot continue on this way, America. I am not like the others who you can cow into agreement nor am I willing to accommodate your tantrums or fit into your belief of how the world should be." Iran warned. "The days of your control and shunning of those who don't submit are coming to a close."

She walked toward the door, not even sparing a glance to him. "I wouldn't want you to see your final curtain call because you couldn't let me go." America, even from his place on the floor, could catch the rather mournful tone and but didn't look until she had pulled the door closed with a final click.

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**A/N:** Thanks for reading and remember to click the **Review This Chapter** link below!


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